


Let the bodies hit the floor

by samariumwriting



Series: Disaster Gays [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23383654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samariumwriting/pseuds/samariumwriting
Summary: Sylvain is walking his dog. Felix is jogging. Somehow, things go wrong and Sylvain ends up being kicked in the face by a beautiful stranger.-Sylvain had been minding his own business: walking his dog, listening to his music podcast (that couldn’t play any actual music because they didn’t have the license, but it was still really interesting, he could swear by it), and definitely not staring at the man’s ass in those very tight trousers.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Disaster Gays [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683235
Comments: 14
Kudos: 102





	Let the bodies hit the floor

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on lots of long fics lately and this fic concept seized me by the throat while I was playing Animal Crossing so I had to write it down  
> I hope yall enjoy  
> (also Felix is trans here but it's only referenced in one (1) line, I just added the tag to reduce any confusion potentially caused by said line)

Sylvain would not, if you ever asked him, describe himself as any kind of first aider. Sure, he had a first aid qualification from high school because he said nurses were sexy once and had to follow through by taking an extracurricular that would let him flirt with a nurse. And yes, the nurse ended up being a middle aged man which meant he actually had the qualification and wasn’t kicked out of the classes or anything.

But he was not a first aider. He was a rich snotty young adult who’d never worked a day in his life, according to everyone ever, including himself. He didn’t have any skills to speak of, really, except getting what he wanted by throwing money and charm at it.

Just because he didn’t have any particular, dedicated part of his brain that thought about elevating and applying pressure and whatnot, however, didn’t mean that he had no idea what to do when there was some kind of medical situation. He wasn’t stupid, and he was also blessed with memory somewhat akin to a sponge. He could deal with injuries.

Which was a good job, because the guy who’d just overtaken him on the path in the park didn’t look like he was doing all that great.

Sylvain had been minding his own business: walking his dog, listening to his music podcast (that couldn’t play any actual music because they didn’t have the license, but it was still really interesting, he could swear by it), and definitely not staring at the man’s ass in those very tight trousers. It wasn’t his fault that the man was ridiculously attractive, clearly ridiculously fit, and...yeah, okay, he probably needed to get his head out of the gutter a little. He was in public and all.

The point was that he’d been minding his own business very well, thank you very much Dorothea from ninth grade who called him nosy once, and then the guy with the beautiful dark hair stumbled. And then he keeled over onto the grass.

So Sylvain did what any reasonable, not-bisexual man would do when he saw an attractive stranger (it didn’t even matter that he was attractive!) pass out right in front of him: he paused his podcast in the middle of a tangent on counterpoint in nineties British jazz and went to check that the man was okay.

“Hey, uh, are you okay?” he asked, getting a little closer. The stranger didn’t move. Fuck. Sylvain let his dog off the lead and hoped fervently that he wouldn’t take a shit or roll in anything while he wasn’t paying attention. “You alright there?” He squatted down next to the man, his brain running through all the first aid advice he definitely had not been paying attention to several years ago.

The first thing to do was to try and get his attention. Approach from the side, which was easy enough seeing as the man had fallen on his side, and then gently shake the unconscious person by the shoulder. Sylvain did just that, and tried not to panic when he didn’t get any response.

He’d fainted, which meant he probably needed to get more oxygen to the brain. Carefully, Sylvain put his hands to the man’s waist and legs and pushed him over so he was lying on his back. Still no response. Panicking a little, Sylvain did what he realised he should have done immediately; checked for heartbeat and breathing.

He pressed his ear to the man’s chest, avoiding putting any part of his body too close to the man’s breasts (he was sure his intentions were very, very clear, but Sylvain knew he had a bit of a fuckboy vibe and he didn’t want to invite any accusations), and almost immediately breathed a sigh of relief. The man’s heart was beating and his chest was rising and falling steadily.

That left hopefully the final step that he’d have to admit he still remembered from his first aid training. Sylvain moved away from the man’s upper body, lifting his legs above the level of his heart to let the blood flow back to his brain.

And now he waited. If he remembered right, he had about thirty seconds before he needed to admit there was something seriously wrong and call an ambulance. He only hoped this guy would wake up before then, because that would be a whole extra huge hassle and he couldn’t have too many people seeing he was a nice person. Plus, Ingrid was a paramedic and he’d never hear the end of it if she heard about this.

Fortunately, after about ten seconds, the guy groaned and slowly opened his eyes. And okay, he was even more hot when he was conscious. Sylvain kept his hands under the man’s legs, keeping them elevated, but he attempted an encouraging smile. “Hey,” he said. “How’re you feeling?”

“What the fuck is going on?” the man asked, squinting at Sylvain. It looked kind of funny, seeing as he hadn’t attempted to sit up yet. Sylvain thought this approximately two seconds before he was kicked in the face by an angry, disoriented jogger.

“Ow, fuck!” he cried out, recoiling. “Hey, hey, don’t try to sit up, you just-” the man then proceeded to sit up too sharply; he groaned again and laid back down on the grass. “You fainted, dude. Let me elevate your legs and you can beat me up for trying to save your life later.”

The stranger paused. “Yeah, okay, fine,” he grumbled. “Five minutes.”

“In five minutes I’ll help you to the bench over there,” Sylvain said. He was not a first aider, but he was rich; he knew exactly how to deal with bratty people who didn’t know what was good for them.

The man grumbled something under his breath which was probably rude, but Sylvain took that as a grudging agreement. “I still feel like I’m going to pass out,” the stranger warned him, so Sylvain pushed his legs a little higher. “Oh, and my legs are going numb.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s your own fault,” Sylvain said, and the man snorted. “What’s your name?”

“Felix,” he said. “And what’s your name, ankle kidnapper?”

Sylvain paused for a moment, trying to work out what Felix was going for there. Okay, that wasn’t funny at all, but if he was attempting humour then hopefully he was feeling a bit better. “Sylvain,” he said. “Though if you’re giving me a title, I’d prefer something a little more dashing than ankle kidnapper.”

“Good luck with that,” Felix said. He was looking very hard at Sylvain, but his eyes were slightly out of focus.

“So, before I make you go to the emergency room, why do you think you fainted?” he asked.

Felix scoffed. “Hell if I know,” he said. “I got dizzy, but I just thought I was about to hit my stride again.” Sylvain didn’t run, but he felt like he could safely assume that Felix had just used some runner lingo.

“The only thing you hit was the grass,” Sylvain pointed out, completely unhelpfully. Felix nodded, as if Sylvain had actually contributed something to the conversation.

“Did you...uh…” Felix gestured vaguely, which didn’t actually illuminate anything at all. “Was I breathing?” Oh, okay. That’s what he was asking.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, you were,” Sylvain said, and Felix sighed with relief. “You were out for less than a minute, so it’s probably all chill.” Felix would be fine. And then this handsome stranger would jog (well, hopefully walk, considering what had just happened) out of his life forever, probably.

“Good to know,” Felix said. He was sounding more lucid by the minute, which was encouraging. “I’m going to sit up.” And he did so, slowly, and he made it without passing out again. Also a good sign.

“Want me to help you to the bench?” Sylvain asked. Felix scowled, but, as he’d said, elevating his legs meant they’d gone numb and two attempts at standing passed with no success. Felix nodded.

Sylvain hooked an arm around Felix’s shoulders and helped him as he half walked, half limped over to the nearest bench. Fortunately, there was one pretty close. Once Felix had sat down on the bench, Sylvain called Mittie over.

“You were walking your dog?” Felix asked. Sylvain nodded.

“I let her off when you didn’t wake up when I called out to you,” he explained. Felix nodded, and they lapsed into very uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Sylvain had to break it. “You’re absolutely sure you have no idea what caused you to faint?”

Felix shook his head. “I feel mostly fine now,” he said. He looked white as a sheet, so Sylvain wasn’t convinced.

“You might wanna go to a doctor about that then,” he said. “Has it happened before?”

“What are you, my nanny?” Felix asked, reaching out to ruffle the fluff on Mittie’s head. Sylvain looked at him pointedly. “Yes, it’s happened before.”

“Seriously, you should see someone about that,” Sylvain said. And then his terrible, awful, slutty brain took over and he had an idea. “Can we exchange numbers? I’ll check in on you. I can be the angel on your shoulder telling you to look after your health.” With that, he shot Felix what he hoped was a winning smile.

Felix squinted at him, but a ghost of a smile appeared on his face in return. “Sure,” he said, unlocking his phone and handing it over. “Give me yours.”

Sylvain obliged, not really able to deny Felix after he accepted that super obvious come on. With relish, he put his number down under ‘Sylvain, dashing hero ;)’ and swapped his own phone back. Felix snorted when he saw the contact name.

“Well, I’m feeling much better,” Felix said. “Thanks. I guess. For not leaving me to die in a public park where anyone else could have helped me.”

“No problem!” Sylvain said with a grin, watching as Felix stood and made his way down the path. He let out a long, shuddering sigh and let Mittie off the lead again. He needed to decompress. That whole encounter was a lot.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. He opened it to a message from a contact called Felix, followed by a knife emoji and then a smug cat emoji, that read: ‘Seriously, thanks. I owe you one, kind stranger.’

‘If you buy me a coffee and book a doctor’s appointment we’ll call it even?’ Maybe it was coming on a bit too fast and a bit too soon, but hey. Sylvain liked to live dangerously and that guy was seriously attractive, even when he looked like death warmed over.

‘Fine.’

So yeah, maybe Sylvain wouldn’t describe himself as a first aider. But maybe he had some skills in that area that could be useful sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) if you have any thoughts about this very silly au then please leave a comment, it means a lot!!
> 
> I also have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/samariumwriting) if you wanna see me yell about my fics/fe3h in general


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